


A Moment is All I Wish For

by anomeganeyatsu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Somewhere in Season 3, not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:55:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomeganeyatsu/pseuds/anomeganeyatsu
Summary: No one would know until it was too late. No one would save him until it was too late....A groan slips past those lips and he watches blue-grey eyes blink sleepily at him. "Shiro?"—Or: I really suck at summaries. Forgive me.





	A Moment is All I Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this](https://theprojectava.tumblr.com/post/163881172258/feindesliebe-ger-loving-your-enemies-they) beautiful art of theprojectava over on tumblr.
> 
> This is set around season 3. It's also been so long since I wrote something so please forgive me.

The hall was quiet, bathed in the light blue glow of the Balmeran crystal. It’s less eerie compared to the violet hue that painted the halls of a Galra ship. Once or twice, his vision shifts and he’s back there again. Strapped into a chair, heart pounding against his chest, glowing yellow eyes staring down at him. The whisper of cloth and the glaring white hair that was so out of place in that dark chamber. His body cold, tight and trembling, conditioned to expect the worst as wont from these meetings.

In these moments, hope was water cupped in his hands. _Hope_ was the whisper of a dream at every waking moment.

He slams his eyes shut. Grits his teeth and inhales through his nose. The scent of sharp iron is absent in the air. No decaying smell of tainted quintessence. Nor charred flesh of cauterized wounds. If he listens carefully, he could hear Hunk snoring away in his room a few doors down the hall. Or the faint sound of music coming from Lance’s headphones. He latches on to these facts and anchors himself in the present. He can feel himself breathe again as the panic and fear that had sunk their teeth onto his flesh eases—for the moment.

He knows the beast is inescapable. It’s just biding its time. Waiting. Patient. Until it can pounce on him and he’s lost. But for now, it lets him be. For now, it gives him freedom. He would have been thankful. But these small mercies always come with a price.

He walks, footsteps echoing hollowly against the walls. His sedate yet purposeful march matches the _thud, thud, thud,_ against his ribcage. His breathing is calm. Controlled. His heart a steady stream inside his chest.

The castle sleeps on and so does its occupants. It’s not strange for him to walk around during these moments. He rarely sleeps and the little he could get aren’t pleasant. Everyone was aware of the why; though they expressed their concern and tried to help, they gave him his space. The progress he made in those earlier days of growing comfortable with the Castle enough to finally sleep had been lost. Being captured by the Galra for the second time would do that to a man.  He couldn’t fully convince himself that this place was safe. That he could let his guard down even a little. They weren’t going to get him here. He wasn’t in the cells. Or the bowels of a Galra cruiser. The witch was nowhere near him. The druids won’t come into his room and drag him away for some play time.

He didn’t need to be so keyed up. He could let himself relax. He could rely on his team to have his back. Despite being ten thousand years outdated, the Castle of Lions was still an advanced system and it was safe.

Then again, with the war against the Galra, safe was far from existent.

But there is one place he finds safe enough.

He stops and turns to the door. The beat of his heart sounds all too loud in his ears for some reason. He raises his hands towards the panel. It trembles minutely and he tries to still it. If there was anyone to notice, they would think it was a fluke.

The door hisses open and his shadow stretches inside the room. The lights are dimmed to ten-percent. It takes his eyes a second to adjust and they catch on the figure bundled up in sheets on the bed. The ever present red and white jack hangs on one wall. The boots are lined neatly on the side by the foot of the bed. He steps inside, the door hissing to automatically close behind him.

He walks up to the bed. Silent. Steps measured. Breaths quiet. The sheets rustle as the figure turns and he feels a hook in his chest, the breath suddenly trapped inside him.

He’s beautiful like that. Brows smoothed, lips parted, long lashes all the more noticeable against his slightly flushed cheeks. His sharp angles and jagged edges softened in slumber. Hair as black as the inky void of space a stark contrast against the backdrop of the white pillow. His fingers twitch as the itch to touch them overwhelms him. The memory of its softness stands vividly in his mind along with the seemingly drugging quality they have on him as his fingers card through the strands.

He carefully sits himself at the edge not wishing to disturb the solace the teen affords in the land of the dreams. There’s a hum in the air and he lets himself softly exhale the breath he has been holding, arrested by the beauty lying before him.

His hand reaches out. Eyes watching the lilac glow stain the pale skin.

He could kill him now.

_Quick._

_Painless._

_Easy._

One less paladin and Voltron was no more.

_Mission accomplished. Well done, Kuron._

Everyone was asleep. Princess Allura and Coran too far away to hear. Hunk too deep in sleep. Lance muffled by those atrocious earphones. Pidge exhausted and passed out in her designated lab looking for her family.

No one would know until it was too late.

No one would save him until it was too late. Red seeping into the white sheets, dripping and gathering into a puddle on the floor. Skin ashen and cold to the touch. Body limp and unresponsive. Eyes no longer holding the spark, just staring blankly at nothingness.

He would be out of the castle and on his way back to Central Command. If the lions chase him, so be it. It’s not like he’s living anyway. He was the dead the moment he opened his eyes. What was the point?

But his hand finds it impossible to close those mere centimeters. One flick of his wrist and this boy that holds Shirogane’s world is gone along with Shirogane himself.

His hand stubbornly refuses to do it though.

Staring at him now, he knows why Shirogane loves him. Even having all his memories, he never really understood it. How could one person hold that much value? It didn’t make sense. Why build your world on something— _someone_ —that could easily be plucked away? Used against you? A weakness that was so easily exploited? It was illogical. Simply _absurd_.

And yet the moment he saw that face. The face that plagued Shirogane’s memories. The face that tethered his original’s mind to reality, to win every single match in the arena his humanity be damned in the process. That damned face staring back at him like he was the most precious thing in the entire universe. How he could see in those eyes, his whole being, that this kid would **_fight_** for him despite the odds. Would **_protect_** him with his whole body, heart, mind and soul. Would always, unfailingly come to **_save_** him. Would **_kill_** for him if need be. Would readily **_die_** for him.

It was too much. He could feel himself drowning and he needs to come up for air. But how can he when this kid was the cause of the short air supply and the only thing that can make him breathe?

_As many times as it takes._

The words echo in his head. He knew… he just knew his purpose—the point of his whole existence—was lost.

A groan slips past those lips and he watches blue-gray eyes blink sleepily at him. “Shiro?”

He closes his eyes, the voice scratchy from sleep washes over him. Warmth curls and lodges itself somewhere in his chest. He feels a hand—thin and delicate, _~~I could snap it, break him and no one will hear him scream~~ _ yet all the same bearing an unexpected strength—against his face. Thumb brushing away the warm liquid that slid unbidden from the corner of his eye.

“Keith,” he chokes out. Leaning forward and burying himself on that chest. Arms wind themselves around his shoulder, pulling him closer. He presses himself harder, allows himself to be held like this. The lilac glow was long gone from his hand. He didn’t even realize it.

Fingers absently scratch at the short hairs at his nape he almost melts. “It’s going to be okay,” Keith whispers, breath brushing against his hair. Warm. Alive. Real.

A laugh bubbles in his chest, but he pushes it down. The hysteria and incredulity would be all too clear in his voice. He _can’t._ He knows he doesn’t have long. Not anymore. He has been living on borrowed time. Let him have this.

Even just once.

He lifts his head and inches forward. Their eyes meet and he allows himself to indulge, to believe. He can have this. All he needs is to take. So he does. Eyes half-mast, he finally closes the distance. Their lips slide easily together, breathing each other in. His hand reaches for Keith’s face, fingers gently grazing a cheek. For a moment—in that moment—there was only _him_. _Only_ _them_.

_Just once._

_Only this._

_It’s all I could ask._

It’s not him Keith loves.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism is much appreciated. :3c


End file.
